


Like Starlings, Like Cranes, Like Doves

by kurofu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A lot of monsterfuckery later, And the abuse of it, Backstory, But it wasn't enough, Come Inflation, Come as Lube, Comeplay, Consensual Infidelity (Not Tomarry), Demon AU, Demon!Tom, Double Penetration, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Hemipenis, I drank so much water while writing this, Knotting, Lots of come later, M/M, Monsterfucker!Harry, Oh my god—they're so horny, Oviposition, Sexually repressed!Harry, Shapeshifting, Size Kink, Tentacles, This was supposed to be a PWP, Worldbuilding, consent kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24979372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurofu/pseuds/kurofu
Summary: Harry finds himself on a train heading to Hell. He doesn't believe that he deserves it, what with the Dursleys and all, but Tom would like to disagree.In which Tom takes it upon himself to be the personal Virgil to Harry's Dante.Or an excuse for worldbuilding and gratuitous smut.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 21
Kudos: 172





	Like Starlings, Like Cranes, Like Doves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolven_Spirits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolven_Spirits/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Wolven! I hope this fic comes to you in good health and fulfills your preferences!
> 
> Beta'd by the awesome Chu.
> 
> The title is in reference to Dante's _The Inferno_ , Canto V.
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm not going after anyone's religion or beliefs, this is just worldbuilding and the setting worked for the story.

The train swayed slightly as it clattered over invisible tracks, the amber liquids on the carriage walls sloshing in their glass containers. Soft jazz poured from the four corners of the car, mingling with the haze of scented tobacco smoke in the dim lighting.

Harry sat at the bar, staring at the beer in his hand as he watched a bead of condensation slide down to puddle at the base of the bottle. He forcefully shook his head before tossing the drink back, the alcohol burning down his throat. It left a dry, unfamiliar aftertaste, as bitter as the situation Harry found himself in.

He groaned and rested his head on his arms, gazing out of the window, the chilliness of the glass bottle a relief to the heat on his face.

The scenery was beautiful, much too beautiful for the destination the train was heading towards.

It was the view of the most picturesque sunset that photographs and cameras would never be able to capture. The sky was creamsicle orange, streaks of the vibrant burnt hue defining the different layers of atmospheres. Shades of wine-purple were encroaching from the edges of all sides by the minute, slowly closing in on a blood-red dot in the middle of it all. Pale, wheat-coloured clouds floated lazily by, their shapes so fluffy and pulled like floss that they looked artificially painted.

He took another swig from his beer. It was much too unfair.

How had it come to this?

Harry remembered the sound of a blaring horn, the brightness of an oncoming vehicle’s headlights, and the feeling of sudden flight and weightlessness that should be physically impossible for humans to perform. The very next thing he knew, he was in a train station made of steam and smoke and steel. A ticket had been sticking out of his pocket, and there hadn’t been much time for him to investigate anything when a train had blown its horn from not too far beside him, signaling its oncoming departure.

To be quite honest, Harry believed that for all the good he had done in his life, he deserved to be in heaven—but it seemed that the fates didn’t agree.

“Good evening.”

A smooth baritone startled Harry from his brooding. He swivelled around, his beer sloshing dangerously as he did so, to come face to face with the most handsome man that he had ever seen. 

“G-good evening,” he stuttered when the man slid into the seat beside his. Harry wanted to smack himself, what kind of first impression was that? 

The edges of the man’s lips quirked upwards as if amused by Harry’s blunder. The man rested a sharply cut cheekbone onto his fist as he appraised Harry. The stranger’s dark eyes made him shiver and caused something warm to coil down and settle into his spine.

He traced the man’s features; from the aristocratic nose and the sharp eyes to his perfectly coiffed hair to the figure beneath the well-tailored and tight suit... Everything seemed to be sculpted to perfection as if God had created the man himself. Harry was mesmerized by the structure of his lips when he realized that they were moving.

“Sorry,” Harry flushed deeper, this was the worst first impression _ever_. “C-can you repeat that again?”

The man only took a sip from his tumbler—and since when had that been there?—before releasing a low chuckle.

“I’ve never seen you before… I was wondering how a delicious morsel like you reserved a seat on this humble locomotive? After all,” the man purred, the deepness of his voice doing odd things to Harry and his eyes raking Harry from head to toe, “I would never forget a _snack_ like you.”

Harry blushed at the compliment, he was sure his ears were red now too, unused to this type of talk. But he grimaced as well because he too had been wondering about that. 

What _was_ Harry’s offense that had gotten him a seat on the train to Hell?

Thinking back to his life, Harry really didn’t believe that he had done anything wrong. It wasn't because he thought he was a saint—Harry knew well enough that no-one could truly be a sinless saint—but rather his moral code couldn't stand to sin. He hadn’t told a lie since he was seven, and even then he had been wracked with guilt! (A simple white lie, _"it’s my birthday”_ , for a piece of rich milk chocolate, the candy melting on his tongue the moment he slipped it in.) He didn’t do any drugs; he didn’t have any thoughts of hurting people, and even less about murder; and he wouldn’t have dared to even dream of stealing. 

All in all, Harry lived a very normal life. He had lived exactly the way the Dursleys taught him to because he had to repay them somehow. He couldn’t live off of them forever without some form of payment. They were already kind enough to let him live and eat beneath their roof for 18 years, it was the least he could do.

There wasn’t _anything_ that Harry could have ever done in his life that would warrant him a place in Hell! Unless….

Harry pushed away that thought before it could fully form. He looked up to the intense, burning dark gaze that seemed to be able to read all his thoughts before Harry averted his eyes. 

“I...I’m not sure what I’ve done.”

Which wasn’t a lie nor was it a truth. Harry had an inkling of what it might be, but he didn't want to believe it quite yet.

The man gave a noncommittal hum, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Is that so, then you must be new then.” A smirk grew on those perfectly sculpted lips at Harry’s hesitant nod. “Your name, darling?” 

Another drop of heat coiled down Harry at the pet name. “Harry. My name’s Harry.” And he placed his hand in the other’s extended one for a handshake— 

Only for the man to smoothly turn their hands to kiss the back of Harry’s hand, his eyes never leaving Harry’s.

“Tom. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, _Harry_.” The man purred, his lips touching the skin of Harry’s hand with each form of words, the warmth of his breath ghosting Harry’s flesh. “I formally welcome you to the Avernus Express, the Train to Hell.”

— — — —

Tom had exchanged Harry's drink from a beer to whiskey, coaching him on how it was to be drunk and savoured.

Harry had never drunk anything with this much alcohol in it, the most he had ever drunk was wine and that was only half a glass at his wedding. 

It tasted of smoke and decay, like sin. The amber liquid was deceptive in its appearance: the smoothness of it as it flowed down his throat, a warmer version of water. The taste of alcohol was much stronger than the beer he had had before, but it also had hints of flavours in it as well, something that Harry thought might have been grain. 

It was unlike any Harry had ever had, and before he knew it, his tumbler had been refilled four times already, and still, he wanted more.

Harry propped his head on his fist, staring at Tom’s perfect profile. The suit Tom wore fit him like a second skin, hugging the sharp lines of his body with rich, fabric, silky to the touch. His voice was just the perfect pitch, the pitch that every man wished to have, and every woman desired to hear. It was soothing to the ear, like the sound of velvet or deep-sea oil, thick and all-encompassing, drowning out other senses. His words were as sweet as the caramel in the whiskey.

Tom... was like sin too. He intoxicated Harry as much as the whiskey had. Was this what temptation feels like? What was he?

“I’m a demon, Harry. That's what I am.” Tom chuckled, leaning forward in his seat. Harry cursed his loose tongue. “Don't I look like one?”

Harry furrowed his brow in concentration. Tom was a demon? But—he staggeringly lifted his arms, the alcohol affecting his motions. 

“I-I don't see any horns?” He slurred out, his hands patting wildly at the air above Tom’s head. “I can't feel them here too?”

Tom laughed, taking hold of Harry's hands in his own and lifted them to his lips, kissing each of his fingers. “Not every demon has horns, Harry.”

“No red skin?”

“No red skin. Honestly, the mortal stereotypes are more fictional than anything.” 

“Oh,” Harry said dejected, his years of knowledge that the Dursleys had taught him were wrong. He moved to take back his hands, but Tom held them steadfast.

“Although that doesn't mean that there are not any demons that have red skin. The Djinns are an example.” 

Harry perked up at that. “Djinns?”

“Yes Darling, Djinns, an Elemental demon with a penchant for fire.” Tom released one of Harry's hands to draw on the air between them. Shimmering light was left in the wake of his fingers. “I suppose I shall teach you the basics while we're at it.

“There are four categories of demons in Hell, divided according to the ways demons extract souls: Contractors, Pacifists, Influencers, and Aggressors. 

“And Djinns are within the Pacifists. As Elemental demons, they do not actively seek out souls, but rather wander in the area they are confined to, trapping the lost souls inside once a specific trigger has been set off.”

Harry nodded his head, much too enraptured by the floating squiggly lines and shapes.

“What's this one?” He pointed at the largest box beneath the four categories, arrows leading up from it. It was unmarked.

Tom smirked. He lifted Harry's chin with his free hand, forcing Harry to focus on him. “That, Darling, is you.” In Harry's peripheral, a word slowly formed into existence. “The food and currency of all demons, the one where each and every demon originate from— _fresh souls_.”

His fingers caressed Harry’s jaw, rubbing soothing circles onto his skin despite the morbidity of their topic and the hungry, predatory dark gaze that seemed to swallow Harry whole.

When Tom tilted his head, the dim lighting hitting just so, his dark eyes seemed to reflect red. A dangerous, dangerous glint that broke through Harry's drunken haze, reminding him that this person in front of him wasn't human.

“Would you like to come with me to my compartment for a further, in-depth discussion of Hell?” The hand encircled around Harry's arm traveled higher, gliding over his bare skin. Tom whispered into his ear, “I promise it will be well worth your time.”

Harry swallowed nervously and looked away. He knows that he should say ‘No,’ he knows that he shouldn't follow a stranger he had just met—God, the Dursleys would be absolutely _appalled_ by his behavior right now, lusting after a _man_. 

But the Dursleys weren't here right now, they weren't here to see his actions and castigate him for it, hopefully never. He wished them longevity so that they would never cross paths again. 

Harry could also blame it on the alcohol that was in his system. This sudden brave, foolish action wouldn’t be uncommon in a person that was drunk, or so what the forums had told him when he had searched online. 

He took in a shuddering breath, his decision made. 

“I—okay,” Harry wet his lips, taking full advantage of his sudden, uncharacteristic bravery. He lifted his eyes to look straight at Tom with conviction. “Take me to your compartment.”

Tom’s smirk broke out into a smile, full of sharp, glistening teeth. “An excellent choice, _Darling_.”

Now, Harry understood why people always went to church to confess, to beg God for forgiveness. It was so easy to accept this temptation, so easy to sin. Maybe this was why Harry wasn’t destined for Heaven, he was too gullible and weak against the temptations that demons had to offer. 

But it didn’t matter now, did it? After all, he was already on the Train to Hell. What could a little temptation and sinning do to him now?

— — — —

They travelled past compartments that lined long narrow hallways, having walked long enough that Harry had become slightly more sober. He counted four compartment doors to a car, two on each side of a wall, and had lost count of how many they had passed already.

Harry had followed Tom through an entry opposite from the one he had used to enter the bar car. It was more grandiose, red velvet carpeting the floors instead of bare floorboards that creaked and were filled with pockmarks. The walls were decorated with tasteful wallpaper, unlike the dirty grime and stains that had covered the area where Harry came from. This part of the train even had natural lighting too! Skylight windows replaced the roof of the hallways, giving Harry the beautiful view of Hell’s skyscape: the orange sunset halfway overtaken by night.

When asked, Tom had explained to Harry that the Express took three days (and four nights) to complete its journey, carrying both fresh souls and demons from the mortal realm. Tom said that demons usually travel to the mortal realm for errands and to harvest mortal souls, some of whom became passengers on the train. The other passengers were the souls who boarded the train themselves, the ones who had received tickets at Purgatory (the silver and grey train station that Harry was at before).

According to Tom, the massive quality difference between the Demon Sector and the Soul Sector was due to merit. Fresh souls had little to no merit, which was earned from collecting other souls. That was why demons had such lavish luxuries, they had evolved from a soul after collecting a large amount of merit. It was their right, their privilege.

Apparently reaching demonhood was a rite of passage. Not every soul had the capabilities to evolve. In order to reach demonhood there had to be around a century's worth of merit gathered, and during that time, souls gathering other souls could be harvested themselves as well. Essentially Hell was a “Dog-Eat-Dog '' world— _"Once a soul has been consumed, Darling, it is gone forever, lost in the abyss of a demon’s stomach”_ —and souls were at the very bottom of the food chain.

Which meant Harry was a meal that was following a predator to his potential-second-death.

It was disconcerting but now that Harry was dead, he wanted to do things that he hadn’t been able to in life, like following a very handsome stranger to their room to do who-knows-what. Or maybe get murdered along the way, he’d read enough horror stories about serial killers that picked up hitchhikers.

“Don’t be afraid, Darling,” Tom’s hand that was resting near the nape of his neck glided down to the small of his back as he gently pressed Harry forward. “No harm will come to you.” 

Harry nodded. According to Tom, demons weren’t the lying fiends that the media had portrayed them to be: when a demon made a promise, it was etched into their very being. If a demon failed to fulfill their promise or broke it, they were liable to have their demonhood revoked and became fodder for the others to eat. So Harry wasn’t afraid that Tom would hurt him.

“Tom?” He was answered by an inquisitive hum. “Why haven’t we seen any other demons in this sector?”

The demon’s gait paused for half a millisecond, so short that Harry thought it didn’t happen. 

“What do you mean?” Tom turned his head slightly towards Harry, a genial smile on his lips. The edges of his eyes were pinched in distaste, however. “There were demons in the bar car, did you not see them?”

“I—yes, I saw—”

“Then you’ve already seen demons.”

“But—”

Tom stopped and turned around fully, placing the back of his hand against Harry’s forehead. 

“It seems you’re more flushed than I thought.” Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. He shouldn’t be _that_ drunk still. “Don’t worry, Darling, we’re nearly at my compartment.”

With each caress of Tom’s hand against his face, Harry’s worries and curiosities began to fade away.

— — — —

Harry sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa-bed, unsure if it was alright. Tom had taken the only chair directly across from him, not even three feet away.

They were in Tom’s train compartment. Surprisingly, the interior was humble, devoid of the lavishness that the exterior entailed. A modestly-sized room that Tom said was only possible through magical expansion and decorated sparsely with furniture. 

“Darling, are you alright?”

Harry looked up from his fidgeting hands and gave the demon a watery smile. He brushed a hand against his ear, pushing away an annoying curl that refused to stay put. 

“I...I’ve never really done this before.” 

And he hadn’t. He hadn’t done anything like this _ever_. Sure, Harry had a wife before his death, but even then their consummation had been nothing but a duty. 

She would lay on her back with him over her, quick and silent as consummation should be. According to his family anyway. 

_"A woman should never make noise or she would be considered whorish; her only duty is to lay back and give herself fully to her husband. A man should always work and assert their dominance, showing his strength to his wife. Consummation must be a monthly ritual, never more, never less. There must always be a chaperon during the hour of consummation. Without one, the consummation would be considered sinful and must be punished.”_

Even now, Harry could still hear his aunt’s shrill voice in his head, reminding both him and his wife for the thousandth time. 

A hand on his face brought him out of his thoughts, the touch a gentle anchor leading back to reality. Harry allowed the hand cradling his cheek to tilt his head back, peering through his eyelashes to face Tom.

Tom stepped closer, forcing Harry to spread his knees wider, barely half an inch between them. A thumb brushed his cheekbone, quelling his worries with each stroke. Red eyes stared down at Harry, the colour of it like glowing embers or like live-fire—like the colour of his wife’s— 

A rough tug pulled Harry’s head higher, forcing his attention back onto Tom.

“Darling, no need to fret.” Harry tracked the movement of Tom’s lips, the dart of a tongue to wet the flesh. “I promise that I will be gentle.” And then Harry was pushed.

His back hit the mattress, bouncing twice and knocking the breath out of him. When he managed to get his elbows beneath him, managed to lift his head and look down, Tom was on his knees, bowing over Harry’s jeans. 

Harry’s breath hitched. Tom’s hand ghosted over his midriff, sliding beneath his shirt and rucking them up before dragging back to the fasteners of his pants and unbuttoning them. A sigh left his lips when the warmth of Tom’s hand met his cock, his muscles strained at the upward stroke—the sudden squeezing pressure right below the head made him choke.

Ashamed, Harry crushed a hand to his mouth, biting the skin and flesh of its back to muffle his cries. With his thumb, Tom liberally spread the precome of Harry’s weeping erection up and down the shaft, making each pass of his hand a slick, smooth journey.

His stomach jumped when hot puffs of breath landed on his skin, followed shortly by Tom’s lips. The kisses started out small and chaste, just mere pecks, but then they transformed, open-mouthed and vicious, attacking with tongue and teeth. Harry tried to squirm away, yet Tom was relentless, chasing after the bruising skin.

Pinpricks of tears formed at the edges of Harry’s eyes, guilt an all-consuming emotion that gnawed at him. It was— _this_ was amazing. 

The sensations that Harry was currently experiencing was something he had never had, this forbidden act. It was shameful that Harry was taking pleasure from a man’s hand. His aunt would have a hissy fit if she found out that Harry was deviating from the proper way, engaging in sinful acts— 

His hips bucked upwards, and his mouth fell open in a silent scream, his body seizing in shock. “Ah, ah, _ah!_ ” Harry cried out, tears streaming down his face, words incoherent. “N-no! Ah!” His cock was surrounded in a warm moist tunnel, engulfed in heat. 

Harry didn't know which was worse: when Tom would slowly swallow him down, taking his time to trace the sensitive veins, the head of his cock hitting the back of Tom’s throat, or when he would hollow out his cheeks as he pulled back up, a relentless suction that seemed almost vacuum-like in its intensity, sharp teeth nibbling lightly on the very tip around his slit. Or when Tom would release his cock with a loud _pop!_ and then used his hands to spread his thighs wider and lick from base to tip before devouring the length of his shaft in one quick motion.

With each carefully orchestrated trick of his mouth, Tom brought Harry closer and closer to the edge by the second, pulling noises from Harry that he never thought was possible. It was too much, _toomuchtoomuch_ and Harry thrashed on the sofa-bed. He didn’t know what to do with his hands—he wanted to place them on Tom’s head and push him down further, wanted to grab him by the hair and pull him off, wanted to grip and twist them into the cushions so hard that they tore beneath his fingers, wanted to crush them into his mouth so he wouldn’t scream—but all he did was lay them limply over his face in defeat.

Tom went down on Harry’s cock one last time, all the way to the base, his throat squeezing the engorged length, coaxing it to completion. And when Harry came, in such an unexpected rush of ecstasy, he swallowed it all, listening to the pleasure-pained cries spilling from Harry’s lips.

Even spent and boneless, Tom refused to let Harry go, suckling languidly at the softening member in his mouth. Harry only whined at the feeling, his hips wiggling sluggishly in an attempt to get away. At last, Tom let up, raising himself off his knees and settling on the sofa-bed, but not before giving Harry’s limp cock one last lick, making it twitch in weak interest. 

Harry laid there, wiping away the tears before pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes in an attempt to taper the continuous flow. His every nerve still hot and sparking, his body twitching every other second in aftershocks.

He had never come this fast before, or at such intensity. Now, Harry understood why his wife had extramarital affairs, especially if every orgasm she had with her lover was like this: explosive, pleasure-filled, and all-encompassing. It was nothing like their monthly consummation, a boring duty.

Silence stretched between the two as Tom waited, sitting patiently beside Harry as he caught his breath. His red eyes glowed slightly as he watched Harry, lingering at the flushed and sweat-glistened skin on his cheeks. The cushion beneath his hands was ripped and torn, stuffing peeking between the gaps of his fingers.

At last, when Harry’s pulse was no longer rabbit-fast, he sat up, running a hand through his hair. Still somewhat dazed, Harry blushed when he realized that his pants were still open and his underwear pulled behind his balls while Tom was still immaculately dressed, tie still done and no buttons out of place. He hurriedly put himself away and sat up, closing his legs together and stuffing his hands between them. 

“U-um,” Harry paused and cleared his throat, his voice cracking. “That was…intense.” He grimaced at his word choice and ducked his head when Tom scoffed.

“You clearly haven’t experienced any sort of pleasure if you thought a simple fellatio was ‘intense,’” Tom mocked, an eyebrow raised high in amusement. “Unless… you were just too pent up? Was your,” he cocked his head to the side, fingers on his chin, eyes smouldering and lips pulled in a cruel smirk, “—wife?—not satisfactory enough?”

Anger exploded in Harry, rage boiling in his veins as it coursed through him. “ _DON’T,_ ” he snarled, back straightening. Tom’s eyes widened in surprise, leaning away slightly at the sudden outburst. “Don’t talk bad about my wife! You know _nothing_ about her!” 

His beautiful wife with her fiery-red hair, brown eyes bright and burning with defiance when she was in the presence of his aunt and uncle, head-down but not submissive, hands curled into fists by her sides. Her gentle, weary smile when he would remind her again not to use so much force while applying healing balm onto the nail-grooves embedded into the meat of her palms once his family leaves. The way her cheeks flushed when she discussed her lover with Harry—and he'd always had something small and ugly simmering in his stomach when he heard how her lover made her happy when he couldn't.

A cool touch to his cheek guided him away from the clutches of anger, and Harry found himself looking at a smug smile with too much and too sharp teeth.

“Jealousy is a good look on you, _Darling,_ ” Burning red eyes bore down at Harry, and whatever bravado that had steeled Harry’s spine a few seconds before melted like paper-thin ice, leaving him doused in fear. 

“Ah, I—ah—” Harry stuttered, his shoulders closing in on himself, words fleeting.

“Don’t worry, Darling, you're not in trouble,” the demon cooed, massaging gently at the muscles on Harry's face and preventing Harry from escaping, pulling him out of his self-imposed shell. Harry shivered at the hint of pointed nails—claws, he thought hysterically—on his skin. “You shouldn't be so scared, Darling, it's not your fault after all.”

Slowly, Harry relaxed in the hold, his mind hazing, exhausted from the sudden conflicting emotions that reared their ugly heads within him. Tom’s eyes had reverted back to their original colour, supernatural glow absent. 

“It was my fault, wasn't it, Darling?”

“Yes,” Harry hesitated, the voice in his ears smooth like honey, too smooth for it to be remorseful. “J-just don't talk bad about my wife.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Actually, don't talk about my wife at all, okay?”

“Alright.” 

And with that, Harry slumped in Tom’s hold, his full weight leaning against the demon’s. 

“We’ll discuss more about demons later, Darling. You need to recover from your… _first_ orgasm.”

Harry remembered mumbling something in reply, but he mostly felt the rumbling from the strong chest he was cradled against.

— — — —

“Ginny.”

His hands fumbled with the mail, thumbing through the bill statements. His heart thundered with each beat, almost too loud, nearly drowning out the inquisitive hum from his wife.

He only looked up when she did, her brows quirked at his silence, a cheeky grin on her lips. 

“What’s up, Harry?” She tucked a strand of red behind her ear, the morning sunlight that filtered through the window made her hair look aflame. She set down the knitting needles onto her lap—another thing that Aunt Petunia demanded her to do. 

_“A good wife should be able to knit and crochet. It shows a woman's ability to be a good mother and provider.”_

He mustered the kindest smile he ever could, a wide, watery thing that his wife would always jokingly say that it looked like he would cry. How fitting, given the circumstances that surrounded them, although no tears had fallen when he first found out. Why should they now?

“You should bring your lover over sometimes. I'd like to meet them.”

Ginny blinked at him, uncomprehending. Then her eyes widened a fraction, her hand laxed in shock for a moment before the needles grinded against one another, her face blank and passive. She dropped her head, eyes burning holes through the burgundy knit yarn. 

She bit at her lips so hard, worrying them beneath her teeth. He was afraid they were going to bleed, breaking the skin and piercing tender flesh. 

At last, she looked up. “How…” she began slowly, “how did you know?” Her eyes were guarded, face like stone, and shoulders hunched forward, her hands gripping the needles like a lifeline—or even like knives.

He didn't want that. 

He didn't want her to think he would ever harm her, that he would ever think of throwing her out into the streets and ruin her. 

“I’m not mad, Ginny.” She only gave him a dubious look. “I'm really not.” He set down the mail and opened his arms, palms up to show he meant no harm. “ You know I don't lie, Ginny. Never have, why would I do so now?” 

Slowly, ever so slowly, her guard weathered down, and along with it, a dam broke. Tears welled and slid from her cheeks to her chin before dropping to the yarn below, the wool darkening upon impact, soaking up the precious liquid. 

He wanted to wipe those tears away, his wife should never be sad, should never have to cry. 

“I'm sorry, Harry,” she sobbed, hands to her face, the knitting clattering to the floor. “I'm so sorry.” 

He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that she has no reason to be sorry. It wasn't her fault. He wanted to hold her close until her breathing calmed and her shaking shoulders stilled. 

But he knew he couldn't get through to her when she was wallowing in grief and self-loathing. 

So, instead, he leaned forward, patted her on the knee, and left the room. 

It's not fleeing, he told himself, he’s just giving his wife some time alone. He wasn't running away from the wails of pain that escaped her mouth, the type of pain healing balms and medical plasters can't fix. She needed space, to grieve, to think.

Physical wounds were the only things he _could_ fix, they're present yet fleeting, something temporary. The things that plagued his wife were anything but.

— — — —

Blinking awake, Harry pulled himself into a sitting position, a crimson velvet blanket pooling down to his waist. Harry blinked at it, his mind still ensnared in the hooks of sleep. Where had it come from? The material seemed to slip between his fingers like water, like liquid mercury in his palm.

The sound of a page turning had Harry look up. Tom was sitting in an armchair across the compartment, a book in his hand. He looked so engrossed in the text—eyes slow as they roamed, his finger running along the edges of the page before flipping it. Harry was entranced; he stared blankly at the figure framed by lamplight. His sleep-addled brain knowing that this was the perfect opportunity to take in Tom’s perfectly sculpted features, his slightly pursed lips that were still pink from— 

Harry found himself landing awkwardly on the floor, having fallen off the sofa-bed at the thought. His legs were tangled by the blanket, and when Harry struggled to escape, a hand rested upon his knee, stopping his futile attempts.

“Um… hi?” 

Tom only raised an amused brow as he lifted the offending fabric off of Harry. 

“Hello, Harry.” When Tom snaked his hands beneath Harry’s knees and back and lifted him to his chest, Harry squeaked.

“I can—I can stand on my own, Tom!” Harry protested as he was gently deposited back onto the sofa-bed. 

“I’m sure you can, Darling,” Tom nodded, sitting beside Harry. One of Tom’s hands lingered on his thigh before drawing away. Harry pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Tom chuckled at the action. Harry was tempted to stick his tongue out, but that would have been too immature.

“Shall we continue our discussion upon demonkind?” When Harry nodded—not trusting himself to speak—Tom’s lips quirked. “What is it you would like to know?”

Harry shrugged, and the corner of the demon’s lips rose even more.

“Would you like to know about the hierarchy of demons?” Tom prodded, leaning slightly into Harry’s space as if he was telling a secret. “About the many types of demons within hell? Shall I dispel more of your foolish mortal fantasies about my kind? Or—” Tom’s lips brushed the arch of Harry’s ear, sharp teeth grazing the cartilage there, voice hushed and breath warm—“Would you like to learn more about… _pleasure_?”

His face immediately heated, and Harry pushed Tom away. The demon went with the motion, laughing when Harry held his tomato-red face in his hands.

“You get worked up way too easily, Darling.” Tom said once he recovered. He removed Harry’s hands so he could hold them himself, claws scraping lightly over the thin skin. He watched in fascination at the pink lines rising after his curious nails. 

“Don’t tease me!” Harry snapped, his blush reddening impossibly more. He pulled futilely at his captured hand. “Just tell me about demons! And let me go!”

He had to tug once more before Tom released him. Harry cradled his hands to his chest, glaring at the magnanimously innocent expression on the demon’s face.

“Tell me about demons,” He repeated, calmer this time. “I’d like to learn more about demons.”

“Of course, Darling. I shall teach you everything you want to know and even more. Perhaps I should start with the absolutely _inaccurate_ ,” the demon spat out the word, a genial smile still on his face, “myths that mortals have of my kind.

“Hmm… I believe mortals have the belief that Hell is constructed from fire and brimstone.”

Harry nodded. “Fire that can never be snuffed. Sinners would be placed into one of the fiery pools and burn like the witches at the stake. It’s said that the screams of the tortured souls can be heard in all the corners of Hell. It’s punishment for all the horrible sins they had done. For eternity.”

There was a pained look on Tom’s face when Harry finished. “Yes, _that_ ” he grimaced. “But unfortunately for those overly religious mortals, only a portion of souls that find themselves here can live for eternity. And they most certainly do _not_ spend their time reflecting over their mortal wrong-doings.

“Hell is—as you so eloquently put it—a ‘Dog-Eat-Dog’ world. Only the most cunning and powerful can survive. Not every mortal scum, no matter how ‘evil’ or ‘amoral’ they were once, become demons.”

“People like… Hitler?” Harry asked in a quiet voice, his lips trembled on the name.

“Who? Ah, _that_ soul—” The demon’s face pinched as if he ate something sour. Dismissively, he waved a hand—“never made it past the soul stage. If I recall correctly, that soul was devoured on this very express. The ensuing commotion when that soul had been found aboard rocked the train off its path. It took the conductor two days of fighting tooth and nail against wailing souls to take back control, delaying the trip.

“In the end, that soul was mauled and slew by multiple other souls, not even able to live past infancy. The train bled vengeance and anguish the entire trip afterward, and it took forcing a number of low demons to clean the… mess since no enslaved-souls wanted to touch the splattered remains. It had been such a pain.”

“I-I see,” Harry stuttered out, shocked at the gruesome fate one of history’s evil men had received. He shook his head clear of the thought. “Then what about the fire and brimstone? Is that true?”

Tom waved his hand again and a squiggly map of the world phased into existence in front of them. Harry cocked his head in curiosity, subtly pulling his legs in closer when he felt a brush on his calf.

“Is that us?” Harry pointed at a minuscule train figure flying over the Pacific Ocean. “Why are we on Earth? I thought we were on the way to Hell?”

“We _are_ on the way to Hell, Darling.” Tom chuckled, his arm wrapped around Harry’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “This is a map of Hell, not mortal Earth.”

“But it looks exactly like Earth!”

“That is because mortal Earth was modeled after the realms of Hell and Heaven.”

“Then, there are no nine layers? Dante never travelled through Hell with Virgil and surveyed the tortured souls?”

Tom scoffed. “Not unless you would like to fall into Tartarus, no. There are no nine layers. And Dante? Must have had a fever dream.” 

The hand on Harry’s shoulder had snuck beneath his shirt collar, idly grazing at the skin there. Harry shifted when the hand slid past his collarbone, deft fingers catching a nipple. He sucked in a breath of shock when the fingers squeezed and rolled his nipple.

“T-Tom, what are you—” Harry faltered when he felt the hint of nails on his skin.

“Shh, Darling,” Tom shushed him, crowding closer. “We were doing just fine.” Harry arched into the demon when his nipple was pinched and pulled. “All you had to do was relax.”

“But I thought you were going to teach me about Hell?” Harry got out, he squirmed when another hand slipped beneath the bottom of his shirt to reach the other nipple.

“I got bored.”

Harry pushed at Tom but ultimately gave up when the demon didn’t budge even a centimeter. He twisted his head away from the demon, cheeks red and lips parted slightly as clawed fingers played with his nipples. 

“It’s quite hard to teach when I have such a delicious snack in front of me,” Tom said as if he was stating an obvious fact. “I can hardly be faulted for that, can I?”

“W-wait, Tom—” 

The demon cut him off, voice deep and dark. “Besides, Darling, I can hardly teach when I’m this … _aroused_.”

Harry twisted again, unsure if he wanted to move away or move closer to the hands. He pushed his chin to his chest, panting, eyes squeezed shut. His toes curled, fingers clenched on the demon’s sleeves. 

“T-then w-when are you going to teach again?”

Tom rested his cheek against Harry’s jaw, nose tracing the back of his ear. “I can teach you _other_ things, Darling… Things like _pleasure_ —something that I am quite inclined to teach you. Something that _you_ would surely enjoy.”

“What a bold—” Harry gasped at a sharp pinch—“assumption. You must either be very arrogant or very confident in your skills.”

The demon didn’t deign that with a response, instead, he chuckled. Harry’s cheeks heated even more, Tom had showcased his skills earlier, and they were _more_ than satisfactory. Actually, Harry had an inkling suspicion that what Tom had demonstrated was barely the tip of the iceberg.

“But of course, Darling, I _can_ be persuaded to resume the lecture on demon folks and the intricacies of Hell,” Tom said idly, as if he was recounting some trivia knowledge he had read yesterday, and not a subtle—or perhaps not so subtle—prompt for sex. “All that has to be done…” Harry let out a breath of relief when one of his nipples was released but tensed again when the hand trailed down to tease at the hem of his pants. “Is to quench my thirst. Sate my hunger, fulfill my desire.”

Harry licked his lips, blinking for a few seconds. Perhaps… He opened his mouth and closed it. Aunt Petunia would surely have a fit. She would tell Uncle Vernon, and then loudly proclaim it to the neighbors in the not-whisper she loved to use when badmouthing Harry over the tall garden fence. 

And then she would travel to his apartment complex and spread more lies. And those lies would hurt not only him but Ginny as well. It was fine if _his_ reputation was ruined, it would make his job and day-to-day life harder, but it would be bearable. He was used to it.

But Ginny, his wife, had absolutely nothing to do with the tension between him and the Dursleys. She was pulled into his life involuntarily. It wasn’t fair for her life to be affected more than it already had.

A sudden sharp tug brought him back to the present, and he gasped. His train of thought was snapped in half. Harry blinked. He tilted his head back to look at the demon.

The corners of the demon’s eyes were pinched, narrowed. And that was when Harry remembered, that the Dursleys no longer would be able to deface him. Their values had no hold on him here. Not when Harry was already in the place that the Dursleys were so afraid of and had basically banned the word from being said in their household.

“I can,” Harry cleared his throat. “I can help you. I want to try to reciprocate.”

He tried again, clarifying. “I want to try giving a blowjob.”

The smile that the demon gave him was practically shark-like, all sharp teeth and too wide. Suddenly, the man stood, jostling Harry in the process. As if in apology, he led Harry from the sofa-bed slowly, smoothing his thumb over the top of Harry’s hand.

Gently, Harry was pushed to his knees, Tom’s crotch bare inches from his face. This close, Harry could see the individual lines of thread that made up Tom’s suit. 

Harry swallowed, heart beating terribly fast at what he was about to do. He could do this, all he had to do was copy the porn he’d secretly watched on incognito tabs, his face red and the security of blankets cocooning him. It shouldn’t be that hard. Right?

With his nerves steeled, Harry leaned in close, nuzzling into the slack’s material. Harry mouthed at the cloth, wetting the fabric. His hands smoothed up Tom’s thighs, feeling the strong, firm muscles. Beneath his tongue, Tom began to harden. Encouraged by the reaction, Harry doubled his efforts. 

He vaguely noticed a hand threading through his hair, settling at the back of his skull. It was only when Harry’s head was pushed back, that Harry looked up, whining at the loss. Tom gazed down on him, eyes smouldering, lips pulled into a slight smirk. The demon nudged Harry’s tilted face towards his crotch, proudly tented inches from Harry’s nose.

Oh. Harry blinked. There was no going back now. 

His fingers shook as he unfastened the trousers in front of him, the zipper both loud and too soft against the thundering heartbeat in his ears. 

Harry’s eyes widened, his fuzzy mind clearing. 

The cock in front of him was long and girthy, the pink head jutting proudly upward. Hesitantly, Harry wrapped a hand around the shaft. He flinched when the cock jumped at his touch. His hand could barely encircle the girth, a gap between his thumb and forefinger.

It was _big_. Harry wondered in awe. How would it fit into his mouth? (How would it feel inside of him?)

Darting out his tongue to capture a bead at the head, Harry was surprised at the taste. The saltiness. Parting his lips wide, Harry placed the cock’s tip into his mouth, suckling a bit before hesitantly sliding a bit more of the length in.

He made a noise of surprise when Tom pushed forward. A third of the cock was now in Harry’s mouth.

“Relax,” the voice above him shushed. Large hands cradled the back of his ears, holding him in place. “Open your jaw and relax, Darling. Let me do the work.” 

Once Harry did as told, Tom slowly pulled back. And pushed in. He set a relaxed pace, thrusting in a little bit deeper each time. Harry settled into the comfortable rhythm, the uneasy-amateur tension leaking away from his limbs. 

But Tom wouldn’t let his mind wander. 

It seemed that every time Harry began to pull comparisons of the porn stars and videos, Tom would know. He would push in enough that Harry would have to shift his jaw to accommodate the new length. 

It got to the point that Tom’s cock tickled the back of his throat. Harry gagged as the cockhead prodded at the barrier a few times, and reflex tears blurred his vision.

Suddenly, Tom snapped his hips forward, forcing past the barrier and burying the last few inches of his cock down Harry’s throat. Harry choked, blinking tears from his eyes. He glared up at Tom, grazing his teeth on the flesh in his mouth.

“No, Darling,” Tom admonished, “Keep your lips wrapped over your teeth. Don’t bite.”

Seconds passed and the demon didn’t pull back. Harry began to panic, his lungs burned at the lack of air. He pushed against Tom’s thighs, fist coming up to pound against the muscle. His head strained at the strong grip, pushing him back down whatever scant centimeters he had managed to get. He gagged at each of his attempts. Fresh tears spilled from his eyes, his breath began to shorten on whatever little air he could take, chest heaving. His throat clenched and fluttered anxiously around the thick shaft lodged in his throat.

“Darling, Darling— _breath_.” The voice above him commanded, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on his jaw. “Open your throat, breathe through your nose. _Relax_.”

Slowly, Harry did as told, his nostrils flared as he sucked in deep breaths, his addled brain calming.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Tom said when Harry’s shoulders stopped shaking. The harsh grip on his head loosened, and Tom pulled back. He paused for a few moments, to let Harry rest with the tip in his mouth, before pushing back all the way in. 

The demon repeated the motions, keeping Harry longer at the base each time. One of the hands trailed from his hair to Harry’s throat, a large palm pressing against the distension there. Harry was made aware of just how large Tom’s cock was, but now he no longer gagged with each thrust in. Not even when Tom began to quicken the pace, the force of his thrusts becoming harsher by the minute.

Slick obscene noises escaped Harry’s mouth, saliva pooled and spilled past his abused lips and down his chin. Tom had a strong hold on Harry’s head, forcing his chin at an angle as he snapped his hips forwards. Harry choked and glared up at the demon, blinking away tears. Tom only smiled at him, fingering at the over-stretched seams of bruised-red lips.

A thumb forced past the thick cock, stretching Harry’s mouth even more. Harry spluttered. He tried to gnaw at the offending intrusion, but the digit was always just a bit too far from his molars.

Tom removed the finger, and before Harry could so much as take a breath, the thrusting pace began to falter, the comfortable rhythm broken.

One of Tom’s legs shifted. Harry whined—in pain, discomfort, embarrassment, he didn’t know—at the sudden pressure on his own cock, straining in their confines. He shuffled his legs closer together, but the demon wedged his shoe closer, forcing them open.

The pressure on Harry’s cock alternated between hard and soft, the flat of Tom’s shoe working at the neglected erection. It wasn’t long until Harry came against the rough jeans, sparks bursting to life in front of him at a particularly hard press of a leather sole. He moaned, shuddering as the orgasm crashed over him. 

Harry wasn't sure if he had blacked out from the pleasure, but the next thing he knew Tom was buried in as deep as he could before pulling back out until only the cockhead was past Harry’s lips.

Tom came. Harry let out a surprised sound at the hot fluid gushing into his mouth. The demon swept away the sweat-clung curls from Harry’s eyes, thumbs brushing away tears.

“You did good, Darling.” He cooed, soft praises falling from the demon’s lips like sweet temptation. As if he knew that it was one of the things Harry had craved most in his life. “So good for me. You did so well for your first time.

“Don’t swallow just yet, Darling.” 

Harry nodded when Tom removed his cock. The taste of the other’s seed was strong on his tongue.

Harry had a sudden hysterical thought. If he swallowed the come in his mouth—come that had came from a _demon_ —it would be like a reverse communion. He would be literally ingesting sin, a part of the devil. 

Voluntarily allowing evil entrance to his body and letting it fester and grow inside of him. 

_Defiling_ him.

Harry found that he didn’t mind. The high-pitched screeches from Aunt Petunia telling him how wrong this was shrunk into oblivion by the second. 

“Lovely Darling, open your mouth. Let me see.”

Harry did, tilting his head back and spreading his lips wide. He wanted to stick his tongue out as well but thought better of it. Who knows how a demon would feel if their precious seed was dropped.

Tom leaned down a bit closer, a hand on Harry’s cheek, gliding at the skin there. The demon hummed, a finger came up to trace the edges of Harry’s lips before diving in unexpectedly into the cavern of Harry’s mouth. 

Harry tried not to flinch, opening his mouth wider to accommodate the hand, his front teeth grazing at the skin of the demon’s knuckles. Two fingers scraped and prodded at the mess on his tongue.

Withdrawing his fingers, Tom brought them to his face, admiring the glob of white that he had picked up, his hand glistening from Harry’s saliva. He brought it closer for Harry to see who nearly went cross-eyed as he stared at a viscous drop of come slide down those elegant fingers.

He jumped at the sudden feeling of sticky-wetness on his face as Tom dragged his fingers across the bridge of Harry’s nose like some perverted sunscreen. With his other hand, the demon gently closed Harry’s mouth and covered his lips.

“Swallow, Darling. Swallow it for me.” The hand on Harry’s mouth migrated to his throat, the large palm encompassing his entire neck. 

The demon’s pupil dilated when Harry swallowed, the inhuman red was barely a sliver behind the black.

Harry tried his voice, but his throat felt abused and raw. He coughed, once, twice. “Um,” He blinked up at Tom with wide eyes. His voice was rough and scratchy as if he hadn’t used it in years. “Can you tell me more about demons now?”

“Oh, Darling,” the demon’s breath hitched. “That is not possible, I’m afraid. It seems I’m still not satisfied quite yet.”

— — — —

Harry typed one last keystroke before sitting back in his chair, eyes narrowed at the paragraph he had just written. He wasn’t happy with what he had just written, it seemed too forced, too clunky in comparison to his normal writing. It was like pumping water from a dried-up well, futile and unfulfilling.

But he had read somewhere that the quality of a person’s writing was the same no matter if the muse was present or not. And his friends online had told him this multiple times. 

A glimpse of familiar red hair appeared in the corner of his eye and Harry looked out the window. It was Ginny. She had a dark-skinned man beside her as they talked animatedly about something. They were smiling. Happy. 

They looked like a happy couple. 

Harry tore his eyes away from the sight. He made sure that the document was saved before he powered off his laptop and stowed it safely away. The last thing he wanted was for his files to be corrupted and his draft would be lost in a digital Bermuda Triangle, never to be retrieved or seen from again. 

He didn’t want to rewrite _everything_ , especially when it seemed that he didn’t have much inspiration lately. 

He waved to catch Ginny’s attention when the two had finished ordering. She waved back, patting the man’s shoulder who was looking at a selection of coffee grounds the cafe had for sale. 

Ginny had a sheepish smile on her face when she walked over towards Harry’s table. The man followed closely behind her. Upon closer inspection, the man was well-dressed. He wore dark grey slacks, a patterned button-up, and a blazer. Harry was sure that the man’s shoes had to be Italian leather or something. 

“Harry, I’d like for you to meet Blaise,” Ginny introduced. Harry took the man’s proffered hand, a flash of dark metal caught his eye. Harry’s knowledge of watches was limited to bits and pieces he picked up from Uncle Vernon’s bemoans of the latest luxury goods, but the one in front of him was surely worth a minimum of two years of his savings. “Blaise, this is Harry.”

Harry stamped down the feeling that he was underdressed. He was already in one of the best clothes his meager salary could buy.

Ginny shifted a bit, tucking a strand of fiery-red hair behind her ear. “Um. Well, I have to go to the restroom for a moment. If you would excuse me.” She took her purse and left, making a beeline towards the back of the store.

Picking up his drink, Harry ignored the burning brown eyes across from him. 

The cafe they were at was half-way across town. Their beverages were a tad pricey, but the coffee roasts were well worth the price in Harry’s opinion. Harry paid the monthly membership fee with whatever left he had of his salary. After Uncle Vernon took his ‘rightful’ share. 

It also helped that the store was tucked away from the main road and had a strong wifi connection. The Dursleys never followed him here, so it was a safe haven for him to escape too. 

“Harry, was it? What’s your occupation?” God, not only did the man look good, but he also sounded cultured.

Harry swallowed his drink before replying, trying, and probably failing to hide his grimace, “I work as an IT repair technician.” In the local second-hand technology store. “You?”

“I’m a lawyer.” Dammit. Ginny sure knew how to pick them.

An awkward silence settled between them after that. The waitress that dropped off the order— _"one latte macchiato, one caffè corretto, and a slice of strawberry shortcake”_ —quickly ran back to the safety of the counter, her appearance a short reprieve of the uncomfortable, one-sided staring contest.

Harry cleared his throat. He refused to loosen his shirt collar despite the weird nerves he got from the intense gaze upon him. It didn’t feel like he was pinned and flayed, more like the details surrounding him were being analyzed. 

“How did you meet Ginny?” He asked. A question he was curious to know, especially once he found out about his wife’s extramarital affairs.

“At a video game convention. Her play-style in _‘The Chosen One’_ was something I had never seen before.” The man across from him said, the edges of his lips rose in a fond smile. “Her choice of using Hermione and the subsequent playthrough had me asking her for tips.”

Harry blinked, momentarily confused at the name-dropping of a popular game. He worked in technology, so he knew what it was but… Ginny never played video games. At least not at home. Or in front of him. Harry had never seen any evidence of game consoles or game covers in their flat.

“I see,” Harry answered instead. He wondered what else he didn’t know about his wife. Was she hiding anything else? Expensive hobbies, debts, or perhaps something that could cause harm, intentional or not? 

Were they hidden well enough?

He pushed away from the sour feeling of unease and disappointment. 

Although truthfully, Harry could understand why Ginny didn’t tell him about gaming. The Dursleys loved to hound their daily lives. If Aunt Petunia caught even a slight whiff of this fact, she would have harshly disciplined and belittled Ginny for being a failure of a wife. It was already bad enough (to the Dursleys but mostly Aunt Petunia) that Ginny was employed, Aunt Petunia had fumed for days when she had found out.

Not to mention that Aunt Petunia would throw their tiny flat upside down to find any evidence of video games her bony hands could find and throw them into the trash. Or even possibly burn them. And then she would keep an eagle’s eye on their monthly expenses and drop in unannounced as a self-appointed proctor.

There was also Uncle Vernon. 

He would personally visit with a bankbook in his hands. Harry’s bankbook to be exact. And he would add another cut to his share from Harry’s pay. Another percentage gone.

_“If your wife is spending so much on frivolous things, you should be recalculating your finances. You could be paying back the debt you owe to my family instead. But don’t worry, Boy, I’ve got it all taken care of.”_

Harry cleared his throat again. Another awkward silence descended upon them. Harry took a peek at his phone. It’s been nearly ten minutes, and Ginny was nowhere to be seen.

“Can I ask you something?” Ginny’s lover started out carefully. Harry braced himself, shoulders stiffening as he kept his eyes on the gaggle of teenage students that walked through the door. 

“Why are you okay with this?”

Sighing heavily, Harry brought his gaze down to his coffee cup. His sad reflection stared back at him, murky in the dark liquid. He knew this question would come—had expected it even. But he had hoped it wouldn’t.

Why was Harry, a married man, okay with his own wife dating someone else? 

“I don't know how much Ginny has told you… but our relationship is unique.” Harry said, tracing the edges of the saucer cup as he did so. “Our marriage was arranged. And she married me young, she wasn’t even out of school yet. 

“As a result, she was saddled with me, not by her own choice. Any future prospects she could have had were destroyed, there and then. I’m under no illusion that she is in love with me. And while I love her, she is more like a sister to me.”

He finally met the brown eyes across from him, surprised by the lack of judgment or haughtiness he had thought he’d find. 

“It’s because of this, that I want her to be happy. I would like for her to do whatever she wants, as much as she wants, and for her to know that I support her.”

By the time Ginny ventured out of the washroom, Harry and Blaise were discussing amicably about computer brands, and which ones were superior in hosting games. 

This time it was Blaise’s turn to wave her over, and Harry gave his signature watery smile. There was a bounce to her steps as she came back, a bright smile wide on her face as she wondered aloud if anyone had taken her cake slice since she was gone for so long, her coffee having gone cold.

Harry offered to get her a new order, but Blaise beat him to it. The man was halfway across the store and waiting in line by the time Harry had finished his question. Ginny’s gaze was soft as she watched the man go, Harry observed over the rim of his coffee cup. The two were like in their own world, so in love that they were.

Harry thought this is what some people called the ‘Honeymoon Phase’. 

When Blaise returned, he held a tray in his hands. He placed down a steaming cup of coffee and another slice of cake—this time black forest—beside the one Ginny was already munching on. He also set down a small plate of freshly baked biscuits in front of Harry. 

At Harry’s cocked eyebrow, the man shot him a charming grin.

Apparently Ginny had told him that Harry was a fan of biscuits, _especially_ this cafe’s recipe. Ginny only shrugged her shoulders when Harry turned towards her, shamelessly pushing the plate closer to him. 

Harry snorted, but he did pick up a biscuit. It seemed that everything would be fine. Ginny was happy and that’s all that mattered. And Harry vowed to himself that he would protect and help nurture the relationship before him.

— — — —

The demon yanked at Harry’s hair, pulling him off with a loud, wet pop. Harry whined at the painful tug—definitely not because of the loss of cock in his mouth. The long fingers in his curls massaged at his scalp, soothing the sharp pain it had caused.

“Apologies, Darling,” the demon said. He leaned forward to pick Harry off his knees, hands slipping beneath round buttocks. Harry let out a startled yelp at the sudden movement, grappling at Tom’s shoulders for balance. He was settled on the demon’s lap, thighs forced to a straddle across strong thighs. “As much as I love your mouth, I do not believe another fellatio would be enough to satisfy me.”

A hand pushed down on Harry’s back, crushing him to a broad chest, sharp teeth came up to nibble at the lobe of his ear. 

“I require something _more_ —” the word was punctuated by the roll of the demon’s hips, pressing their erections together; Harry gasped—“something that would be more than just the little taste that I have had.”

“Y-yeah?” Harry asked, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling of Tom’s hand skimming over his cockhead. A hard shaft, wet—from _Harry’s_ own saliva— pressed against his own in another upwards roll. He absolutely lost it, coming with a mewl, when a large hand wrapped around their cocks, the grip creating a tight tunnel.

From the haze of his orgasm up high, Harry heard Tom reply, his voice both clear-cut and distantly-fuzzy. 

“Yes, Darling. Something that _you_ can provide me. Only you.”

The hand on Harry’s back glided up and down the expanse of his skin, drifting lower and lower each time. Harry shivered lightly. In a distant part of his mind, Harry remembered that he was completely naked. Tom, at least, still had his trousers and an unfastened button down on.

“Something that you have given no-one. Not even to yourself for adventures of self-pleasure.”

Harry bodily shuddered when he came back to himself, blushing furiously when he was made aware of the mess he had made in the small confines of Tom’s hand and their cocks. The demon pumped his hand once, dragging the white come up and down Harry’s oversensitive cock. 

Delicate fingers slipped between Harry’s cheeks, rubbing over the entrance there. Harry whined, bucking up into Tom’s grip to get away from the unfamiliar pressure. The chest beneath his rumbled once more.

“W-what?” Harry squeaked out, trying but failing to shake the haze of post-orgasmic bliss from his mind.

The demon only smiled, as he repeated his words. “May I have this, Darling? May I be the first?”

“You mean my anal v-virginity?”

The pads of Tom’s fingers pressed harder in response, not enough to breach the muscle, however. 

He glanced down at Tom, and his breath caught in his throat.

Tom was looking at him with… _reverence_. It was the only word that could describe what Harry saw. Red eyes burned, the once brown colour a faraway memory, so intense that Harry wanted to look away, but he didn’t—couldn’t. He was forced to watch as the demon’s pupils expanded when he bit his lip, tracking the motion as he gnawed on the flesh. 

All of Tom’s previous ministrations were obsolete, the amount of pleasure he had given Harry was pushed away. Because now, as Harry was straddling and looking _down_ on a demon—a demon who paused all its seductive temptations for an answer—he felt powerful.

If he said no, Harry was certain that the demon before him would stop, would let him go, and perhaps continue the lecture on demonfolk and hell. 

But if he said _yes_... 

Harry shuddered again, a wistful sigh leaving him. He rocked back onto the fingers, imagining what the feeling would be like if he put just a little bit more weight down and let them pierce into him. 

Perhaps he was still experiencing the effects of the alcohol, or perhaps the fact that here, in Hell, the Dursleys had no hold over him. Or perhaps, that he was already drunk from the headiness of having a _choice_ for him to choose. Of his volition. But Harry had surged down to capture those lips he had admired since the first time he saw them in the bar car. 

It was clumsy and inexperienced, but Tom didn’t seem to mind. He parted his mouth to allow Harry access, let Harry explore and deepen the kiss as much as he wanted to. 

Finally, when Harry pulled away, chest heaving and gasping, he held close to Tom’s lips. He paused to catch his breath, looked down at the one more time before the word spilled from him, the decision made.

“Yes,” Harry whispered. The demon’s eyes widened, pupils shrinking for barely a second prior to dilating impossibly wide, nostrils flaring. “You can have it. You can be the first.” 

The next thing Harry knew, he was thrown onto the sofa-bed, bouncing on the cushion. Like the first time, Tom crawled on top of him, but instead of being slow and sensual, he practically tore off his shirt in his haste, throwing it somewhere in the compartment. 

He looked wild, rapacious. Tom’s neatly coiffed hair was in disarray, falling over his face as he crowded over Harry, red eyes glowing in the shadows. His smile was a half-snarl, half-grin, and it seemed that the teeth had grown sharper, longer at the very least.

“Oh, _Darling_ ,” the demon growled, voice husky and seemingly reverberating in the tiny space, “You are absolutely _marvelous._ ”

Harry’s legs were shoved over Tom’s shoulders, ass off the cushion. He flinched at the feeling of sticky wetness touching his backside. From this angle, Harry could see what Tom was doing. What he thought was lube of some kind, was actually come. His eyes grew wide at the sight. It was Harry’s come from when he had released into Tom’s hand. 

“W-wait!—”

Tom ignored him, plunging a finger deep into Harry’s hole, effectively shutting him up. Without letting Harry adjust, Tom pulled back and pushed with the same ferocity, adding in a second finger a moment later. 

Quickly, the demon scissored his fingers before a third and fourth finger joined the array, drawing moans and gasps from Harry. He practically screamed when something inside him was struck, his nerves sparking. Stars shot across his vision and the next thing Harry knew, he was coming again. 

He clamped down hard on Tom’s fingers, but the demon didn’t let up. He plowed through Harry’s orgasm, finger-fucking him even when some stripes of white landed on Harry’s chest. 

Whines escaped Harry’s throat as he immediately crashed back down from his high, as if Tom had forcefully pulled him back to the present. The bundle of nerves inside Harry was being incessantly plundered by what felt like sharp points, scraping along the walls of his hole with each thrust in and out.

He tried to get away, twisting and wiggling backward, but the harsh grip on his hips tightened and _yanked_ him back down again, forcing the fingers in deeper. 

His erection was weak, but it was rapidly swelling again, precum oozing onto his stomach like a leaky tap. Strings of the clear liquid connecting the head to his sweaty skin snapped and reformed with each jerk of Harry’s body.

All of a sudden, the fingers were wrenched out of his hole. Harry gasped, muscles clenching at air as he tried to catch his breath. 

Harry’s body tensed when he felt a blunt head poke at his rim. It retreated before advancing again, pressing just a bit more to let Harry feel the burn of a minute stretch. But instead of it pushing in, it withdrew again, and this time something broad and flat rubbed against his entrance.

Confused, Harry looked up. Tom was staring down at him, his hips pushing slowly, the thick shaft of his cock between Harry’s cheeks, running over his hole. Harry’s blush reddened further as he felt Tom’s cockhead push at his balls before pulling back and repeating the motion. 

“Are you sure, Darling?” The demon asked, voice still gruff but calmer now. The calmness seemed forced, however, as if he was straining to hold back something, the muscles trembling from the force. “This is your last chance to back out. Last chance to save your purity.”

Harry nodded his head furiously. Because, God, he already agreed before did Tom already forget?

“No, Darling,” Tom admonished, leaning in closer now, pushing his pelvis down and subsequently his cock even harder against Harry’s hole. “You have to speak. Are you going to give it to me?”

“Yes,” Harry rasped out, voice dry and slightly cracked from all the screaming. “Yes, I give it to you—just please, _fuck_ me, Tom!”

Tom’s lips pulled upwards, a smirk forming before he swooped down with a hand to gather the dirty mess on Harry’s body and brought it to his cock, lathering the head and shaft liberally. 

The demon kept Harry’s chin in place with his other hand when he finally began to push in. Harry grabbed and fisted at the sofa-bed beneath him, nails catching and slipping off the fabric. He couldn’t close his eyes, not with the fervent look in those preternatural red had on him. He could only open his mouth and gasp, a soundless scream torn from him as the head popped in and the demon pushed forward, sheathing himself inside in one stroke. 

Little sounds were punched from his throat as Tom thrusted back and forth as if testing the tightness of Harry’s hole. Harry grabbed at the velvet blanket, crushing it in his hands as his body fluttered around Tom. 

The cock was big and thick. Just like when Harry took Tom down his throat, but larger. Okay, Harry thought, he could do this. He could handle Tom’s cock just fine.

It wasn’t until Tom truly began to fuck him—his thighs crushed to a strong chest and a grip on his hip holding him still—that Harry knew his assessment was wrong. This fast, Tom was jackhammering into Harry faster than his muscles could accommodate the girth. It stretched him, sending an endless series of pain-pleasure sparks flying across his nerves.

Distantly, Harry was aware that he came. Again. The feel of warm sperm splashing onto his own skin, sticky and sliding slowly down his bent form. His nth orgasm since he followed Tom to his compartment. Harry didn’t know. He had lost count.

His muscles tightened uselessly, could hardly clench from the thickness that Tom was.

Strange mutterings, half-hissing, half-guttural growls rumbled from Tom. When Harry looked back, his body twisted in _toomuchnotenoughmoreplease_ pleasure, Tom’s features were twisted. He was still human-looking, but he was beginning to seem more like his kind’s namesake. Like the ones he learned from children's parables. His nails were long, pressing deep into Harry’s thigh without cutting skin, his eyes were less of the cinnamon-blood red but more of a fiery scarlet, not unlike the sun he had seen earlier. His pupils were less round now, slightly pointed at the top and bottom, visible despite the dilation. 

It was cute. A detached part of his brain commented. They reminded Harry of a cat that was high on catnip. 

Harry gasped at the building pressure inside of him. No, no, no. He couldn’t—he can’t come anymore. No more! 

He pushed against the demon above him, hoping that he could get Tom to come to his senses and let him rest. But Tom only let go of his hip to capture his hand, yanking at the appendage until Harry was forced off of the sofa-bed. 

With the new position, the new _depth_ that Tom could penetrate him with, Harry was helpless but to fall from the precipice once more. His come was watery and thin, a few drops in comparison to before. 

His mind floated for a while, his body boneless as he was being used, like a ragdoll as he was being jerked up and down the thick cock. Oversensitivity was but a distant thing, a slight tingling feeling that Harry didn’t pay attention to. 

Harry thought he could feel something hot rushed into him after a few brutal thrusts, the hips pushing in more despite already being at the base. But sweet, merciful darkness had already washed upon him.

— — — —

The sound of pages being flipped slowly filtered to Harry’s ears. He winced when he moved to stretch his legs. His whole body was smarting, especially his lower half. It throbbed as if it had its own heartbeat.

Harry groaned, and attempted to push himself up, but an arm across his hip pulled him back. It also made Harry very aware that there was something large inside of him. His eyes snapped open.

Harry twisted around to see that Tom was spooning him, pelvis pressed tightly against his ass. 

“W-what?” Harry squeaked, trying to pull himself away, but Tom just pushed his ass back down. “Tom?”

“Hmm, you’re awake, Darling?” The demon mused. A heavy book snapped shut somewhere behind Harry, and Tom came to nuzzle against the side of Harry’s neck. “I was worried I had hurt you since you were out longer than your first orgasm. Perhaps I had been too harsh on you.”

“Tom!” Harry cried out, mortified. His cheeks flushed and he tried to wrench his head around to face the demon. “Are you—are you still inside of me?!”

Tom paused his nosing, as if in thought before he pushed his hips slightly forward. Harry keened. 

“I suppose I am, Darling.”

“Why?!”

“I did not want the furniture to become soiled.” He said as if he was saying an obvious. “It’s better to plug your hole closed than let my seed spill out of you.” The demon hesitated for a moment. “Unless you would like to experience that of course, then who am I to stop you, Darling?”

Harry squawked, slapping blindly at Tom behind him. 

“Just pull out! Pull out!”

“If you wish so, Darling.”

And then Tom began to withdraw, Harry’s insides squeezed down as he did so. Harry whimpered as, slowly, inches of Tom’s cock began to leave his body. God was Tom _big_.

At last, when it was all gone, Harry rolled onto his back, glancing at the cock that was just in him. He ignored the fact that the moment the head slid out of him—with some difficulty—stickiness began to leak from his gaping hole, puddling between his thighs. 

Even soft, Tom’s cock was girthy, hanging heavily against the demon’s hips. Tom smirked at Harry’s attention, not-so-subtly stretching to reveal more. The demon was shamelessly proud of his nakedness, and he had the looks to match the ego. Harry flushed and scowled, gathering the velvet blanket and covering himself with it. 

Harry also refused to acknowledge the brief pang of hollowness he had felt when he was empty.

“You’re satisfied now, aren’t you?” Harry sniffed, glaring at the demon who was radiating smugness. 

The demon brought a hand to his cock, grazing the skin there. “Mmm, my hunger can easily be brought back to life. Especially with how ravishing you looked on my cock, Darling.” Harry shot Tom a glare, and he acquiesced, hand settling onto the bed and a slight pout on his lips. “But yes, I am satisfied.”

“Then you’re able to explain more about demons now?” 

Tom let out a long-suffering sigh, or well the graceful equivalent of it anyway. “I _suppose_ I can, Darling. However, are you certain you would not prefer another lesson in pleasure instead?”

“Yes, Tom. I want to learn more about demons.” Tom sighed once more, lashes slightly lowered, and Harry quickly tacked on, “I _suppose_ afterward I can take another lecture on pleasure.”

A smirk quickly replaced the forlorn expression, and the demon swiped one of Harry’s hands in his. Bringing them to his lips and kissing the back of Harry’s hand, red eyes sparkling beneath thick lashes.

“That is _quite_ the acceptable deal, Darling.” 

By this point, Harry didn’t even try to pull his hand from the demon’s soft caress. Tom rested against the arm of the sofa bed, lounging like a Roman god. The other hand not holding Harry’s waved at the air, but this time instead of soft squiggles, tendrils of green mist gathered around long fingers.

“We can start with powers.” The demon said, watching idly at his own hand as the green mist formed the shape of a flickering flame before morphing into a snake, coiling down the arm that held it. “All demons have power once they evolve. It depends on which categories they become. 

“Aggressors have abilities that can boost their innate bloodlust. For example, say a Wendigo. Man-eating demons that can take the form of a carnivorous deer, their antlers are forged from bone, strengthened only by the blood of their prey. Pacifists are the direct opposite. Their powers help them shy away from conflict and contact. Although that hardly means that their power is weak. Not unlike the jellyfish, their stings are quite deadly, no? Especially once provoked.”

The mist-snake had slithered down from Tom’s hand to Harry’s. Harry’s breath hitched at the feeling of nothing and something touching his skin, like a brief graze of wind. The places where the snake touched were slightly cold, hints of scales whispered, skimming his bare arm as it continued its journey to Harry’s shoulders.

“Influencers have the magic to thrall or even lure their prey, depending on the demon type. For food, for leisure, or just for sport. Succubi and inccubi are well known for their sexual charms. Vampires, too, entrance their victims into doing their will. But you can consider an Influencer’s power like… mind control.

“And finally, we have the Contractors. Perhaps the most known demon type to the mortal kind.” Tom mused, laying languidly as he conjured angelfish from mist to swim about the air. “They are the ones that mortals sign their souls away to. 

“The powers of Contractors are more peculiar. No two Contractor demons have the same power, yet they can be very similar to one another. They are like the jack of all trades, with an emphasis on one in particular. Of course, if there was only one Contractor for wealth, they would surely be run down dead by the amount of requests mortals would call them for.

“However, a demon is not only limited to one power. If they live long enough and cultivate either through tutelage or sheer will alone, multiple powers can be achieved. And they, Darling, are quite easily the most powerful of all demonfolk.”

Harry sat up, wincing slightly at the throbbing pain. His fingers glanced at the feathers of a mist-starling as it flew overhead, wisps of mist curling around his skin. He stared around the compartment, enraptured by the mist creatures that Tom would create and dissolve before another would take its place. 

“Then, what about you?” He asked, finally bringing his eyes back to Tom. “What kind of power do you have?”

Tom snapped his fingers and all the mist animals disappeared. 

“My power, Darling, is the ability to shapeshift. Into any creature, humanoid or monstrous, actual or fictional. My entirety can change at will.” Tom purred, features shifting for a split-second before returning to the familiar handsome visage. “Or only a specific part of my body.

“All my power requires is a little... _imagination_.”

Tom’s hand had transformed into a bird’s foot, flexing the scaled muscle this way and that, sharp talons gleaming in the light. And then, that too changed back into a normal-looking hand. 

Oh. Harry swallowed, mouth suddenly too dry and parched. His eyes flickered downwards for a moment. _Oh,_ the _possibilities_...

**Author's Note:**

> The next chapter is where the fun tags begin ( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖)
> 
> This was supposed to be a one-shot. Maybe like a 12k one shot of pure smut. But then it expanded, it became monstrous, ever-growing. Backstory began to appear, and worldbuilding began to dominate—I am helpless to the whims of my muse ;;; So now there will be 2 more chapters after this that will have to be written. Of smut and more backstory—but mostly smut.


End file.
